


Details Later.

by dancinginthisworldalone



Category: Re-Animator (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Pre-Relationship, sksks tenses?? idk her
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26084470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinginthisworldalone/pseuds/dancinginthisworldalone
Summary: In a rather ironic twist of events, it was you that rushed in to save him from what had been your beloved pet.
Relationships: Herbert West/Reader
Kudos: 25





	1. battering ram

It landed on the cold concrete of the basement floor with a disgusting squelch. It twitched for a moment, until the horrible wail from it’s throat dissolved into pathetic, bubbling growls. 

The creature was dead. _Again._

The basement fell silent- save for the soft swish of the hooded light bulb as it swung back and forth, and your distressed, shallow breathing,

“I-is that…West, is _that._.. R-rufus?” Your voice trembled as you stared at him with wide eyes.

Herbert West growled inwardly– both from the sting left by the creature’s claws that mauled his back, and the frustration brought about by _you_ barging into ~~the~~ his basement instead of Cain. He could just barely tolerate your presence, as you actually left him to his own devices whenever you’re not at the house. He doesn’t feel your eyes follow him after a long day in the hospital, _unlike_ Miss Halsey. You don’t knock repeatedly on his door to ask if if he’ll join the three of you for dinner.

He _wasn’t_ fond of _you_ , not by a long shot, but a small part of him wanted to at least spare you from seeing your cat in such a state. Well, that, and the fact that you do not have the same, scientific mind as Dan Cain. Nor his access at the morgue, or the laboratory in the university.

You did confront him about Rufus– just a few hours ago– you knocked on his door, and when you did not barge in just as your friend did earlier, he opened the door and asked what you wanted. 

You asked if he _harmed_ the creature– and he recalls that you specifically used the word _harmed_ instead of _killed_ , as if you’d driven the cat to a veterinary and not being buried by Cain in a shallow hole he dug out in the front lawn. It was a classic way of softening the blow if he had indeed harmed the cat. He met your unflinchingly and truthfully told you _no-_ that he found the cat already lifeless; the same story he told Dan and Miss Halsey.

He was fully expecting you to go into hysterics like the dean’s daughter, fully expecting you to cry and start flinging accusations, and maybe start hitting him. He heard how Megan relayed what happened to the cat, after all. Miss Halsey painted him as a sadistic savage. In turn, he was prepared to point out the evidence that it wasn’t his fault, that it was the jar of marinara sauce from last night’s dinner that did the cat in. 

What he wasn’t ready for was your dull acceptance. Your shoulders slumped rather sadly as you registered his words, and you merely said, _“Okay,”_ in a small, tired voice, _thanked_ him for being honest _._ He found that interaction rather… unsettling. And he would rather you scream accusations at him instead of… whatever _that_ was. From behind his door, he heard Megan Halsey ask you why you believed him. He didn’t hear what you said, but it was apparently enough to shut the other girl up.

In a rather ironic twist of events, it was you that rushed in to save him from what had been your beloved pet a few hours later.

It was you that ran into ~~the~~ his basement at three in the morning, hair hanging soft and loose around your shoulders, dressed in a faded, over sized FOREST HILLS HIGH TRACK AND FIELD sweater that drooped on the slope of your left shoulder.

He wasn’t expecting you to look oddly vulnerable at three in the morning. _Almost_ endearingly fragile.

Which was odd. Herbert West was aware of his height, and he acknowledged that you were at least an inch taller than he is. And there _hadn’t_ been anything fragile with the way you swung the crowbar at the cat; you did it with an ease that suggested that it wasn’t the first time you’d swung _something_ at _someone in_ the same violent manner.

“You’re from New York,” He finds himself saying, nodding at your shirt. Something to draw his attention away from your shoulders. Or from your exposed thighs.

Which was strange, because it was not as if he hasn’t seen people’s thighs, or hadn’t seen people naked, he’s studying medicine, for heaven’s sake– he’d studied human anatomy inside _and_ out for almost half his life– he’s prodded and examined the seemingly endless network of nerves and muscles that are encased by skin. 

And that’s what he’s seemingly fixated on, was it not? _Your skin?_ Granted, that the advantage you hold against his previous subjects is that you are a living, breathing person… 

And it was just your shoulders out in front of him– 

Which is ridiculous.

_“What?”_ The sharp agitation in your voice pulled him away from his strange, unwelcome thoughts. He could have thanked you for that. “I just hit something that attacked you, which may or may not be my dead cat, and you’re asking if I’m from _New York?!_ “ 

"That was your cat,” He said, curtly. “And I wasn’t asking; the way you speak highly suggests you’re from Queens, the clothes you are wearing just confirms it.”

“What the _fuck_ , West?”

“Forest Hills is in Queens, yes?”

“I- _what?_ ”

_“What the hell happened here?”_

Herbert turns towards the source of the voice and sees Dan Cain standing by the foot of the stairs. He too was equally tousled from slumber. Dan’s head swiveled from him to you and lingered briefly on the… remains on the floor.

“(Y/n) are you okay?” Cain stalked towards you, giving you a once-over, checking for injuries, before deeming you unhurt and gently taking the crowbar from your hands. 

“I’m fine, but… Rufus,”

“What?”

“Rufus _attacked_ West, Dan.” You said slowly.

Cain turned towards Herbert and his eyes widened, likely, just seeing the injuries West has sustained. Cain’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Herbert, tell me what the hell is happening, or- or I swear to God-,”

“I  _ could _ tell you what happened,” Herbert West said coolly, straightening his tie. His intended audience is finally present. “But wouldn’t you rather I  _ show _ you, Cain?” 


	2. devil's in the details (but you got a friend in me)

A faint, sniffling noise greets Herbert West upon entering the house. 

It’s coming from you- of course, it's you- sitting on one end, with your palms covering your face. Your shoulders, covered by your threadbare plaid shirt, is shaking with each sob. 

And it dawns on him, a bit slowly, that you’re still crying about your cat.

Herbert West squares his shoulders, fully prepared to let you be. You haven’t noticed him yet, and it’s not like he wants to particularly be noticed by you- not that he’s avoiding _you_ per se. He's avoiding your questions, not that he has to explain himself to you. The cat's demise is an _accident_ , regardless of Miss Halsey's accusations. 

Herbert West is _not_ gonna comfort you- it's not like the two of you are friends.

Herbert West doesn't comfort people.

He doesn't _do_ friends.

He doesn't _have_ time for friends.

The two of you just happen to be aware of each other's existence. It's quite difficult not to, as much as he tried, seeing as both of you live under the same roof- him, out of scientific necessity; you... well, Herbert couldn't care less. But you tolerate each other. The two of you coexist within a respectful distance.

You’re housemates. 

That's all.

To call the two of you Acquaintances would be twisting the definition- that word applies more accurately to Daniel Cain. You’re housemates. You’re _not_ friends. Even if you remind him to bring an umbrella after hearing the weather forecast, or when you start leaving a fresh pot of coffee for him after learning that he's barely sleeping because of his research- you didn’t even ask what the research was about. He just comes up from the basement one morning, pissed about an experiment going wrong, and seeing a yellow sticky note stuck on the coffee pot with _FOR HERBERT_ scrawled on it.

He irritatedly dismissed Cain’s comment about you being fond of him.

Herbert is determined to not talk to you. You should be thanking him, Herbert thinks, because your otherwise insignificant pet would help him bring forth humanity's most important legacy. The cat could live forever. Theoretically.

So he leaves you be, averting his eyes from your shaking, sobbing figure on the itchy, corduroy couch. But his plan to go down to the basement is easily thwarted by a sharp, high-pitched noise. 

He stepped on one of the cat's squeaky toys- and, as expected, you tense up, head whipping towards his direction so quickly that you may need the reagent yourself.

"West," You gasp, eyes growing wide at the sight of him. Your face is tear-stained and splotchy, made even redder by your useless attempts to wipe your eyes with your shirt sleeves. "I didn't hear you come in."

"I- um... I'm sorry, about your cat." He really isn't, and his own words surprised him, and with the way that your eyebrows shot up, it seemed to surprise you too. 

He bends down to pick up the offending toy- a rubber fish, slightly mangled at the places where the cat previously chewed and sunk its fangs and claws into- and hands it to you. You take it, and he was almost worried that you’d burst out crying again, but you merely sniffled as you held the toy with two hands and bright it closely to your chest.

"Thanks," You whispered softly.

Just a week ago, he remembers your music blaring loudly from the radio, disturbing his train of thought, and after he marched up from the basement to tell you off, he sees you cradling the black cat to your chest like an infant, spinning in a one-person waltz, as you sang along to a duet about someone comparing their lover to an Island. You apologized sincerely, telling him you didn’t know he was home, and he returned promptly to the basement even before you could fully close your bedroom door to muffle the noise.

He remembers you having silly, one-sided conversations with the cat while it perched on the countertop, and when he asked what the animal was doing on a surface where food is normally placed, you shrugged and said, "He likes to be tall."

He remembers seeing you stretched out and asleep on the very same couch you’re now sobbing at, one arm draped over your eyes and the other on top of the cat's small, furry head. The cat laid on your torso, it's big, green eyes blinking lazily at him.

"Have you eaten yet?" Your voice, deep and raspy from crying, breaking him out of his thoughts. Herbert briefly wonders if he looked strange, standing so still in front of you.

"I haven't," He replies, surprising himself once again that evening. 

For the first time, he accepts your invitation to get dinner. He watched you disappear into the bathroom, asking him to wait for you; that you just need to wash up, and that you’ll be back in five minutes.

He glances at the watch around his wrist. Three minutes left.

His agreeing to have dinner with you isn't pity. It isn’t an act of friendliness.

It's... coexistence with a person that lives under the same roof as he does. It certainly, he tells himself, definitely isn't guilt.


	3. what a night it is, when you live like this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you need help with your homework, and you’re stuck with the rude housemate.

Normally, you’d ask Dan for help.

It sucks that people see Daniel Cain and immediately assume things. So, what if he played football in high school? He’s a good guy. A little bit of a dork, but he’s great. He reminds you of Fred Jones, really. On the other hand, it’s always entertaining to watch people’s eyebrows go up when they learn that yes, Dan Cain is in med school and that yes, Dan Cain –  _ yes, we’re talking about the same person _ , on an academic scholarship.

But Dan, great as he is, isn’t home at the moment, and you’ve been staring at the same page of your  _ Intermediate Calculus _ for the entire  _ weekend, _ and it’s already Sunday evening and your academic career depends on whether you get the minimum required grade that semester.

Daniel called and said he won’t be home till tomorrow afternoon – something about the Dean of the department of medicine being on a seminar…

So, you’re left with the 2-paged, 10 problem homework that’s driving you insane, and your other roommate – the withdrawn, taciturn, Herbert West. He moved to 666 Darkmore a few weeks ago. You left the house one morning and come back to a strange, short man lurking on your porch. It was single-handedly the weirdest introductions you’ve had, but West agreed to pay extra for exclusive access to the basement and that meant lesser overtime for you, so you didn’t ask any more questions.

You’ve heard about West from a few professors – He’s  _ very _ smart, according to them. They also talked about him being the apprentice of a Nobel Prize awardee; about him having offers from Harvard but choosing to attend Miskatonic to honor his late mentor.

You’ve seen him in the library once or twice since moving in, but he didn’t even spare you a nod. He’s alone in the limited number of times you’d see him. He never smiles, even at home – and the condescending half-smirk he wears on his face doesn’t count. Even Rufus avoids him, and after you told Megan about your cat’s odd behavior towards the third person in your house, she snorts, telling you that  _ your cat is smarter than her boyfriend _ .

But you’re desperate – so who cares Rufus doesn’t like him? Getting a zero on this assignment is as good as saying goodbye to all your years of hard work. You’ve seen his notes – he sometimes leaves them in the dining table after pulling an all-nighter, and it’s either he’s kinda forgetful would often leave his things lying around (which you doubt) or he’s trying to casually show off how smart he is (to you or to Dan, you don’t know, but his handwriting is neat for a guy) – and sure, it may be chemical equations, or sketched anatomical figures, but Herbert West seems smart enough to understand the equations on your book.

Desperation coils in your stomach as you get up from the couch and pad softly into the hallway – into his room. You know for a fact that he’s inside, hearing muffled movements and the sound of paper being ripped from their notebook earlier.

His door was partially open – you can see a sliver of light from his room against the dark wood floor. You square your shoulders, releasing a sharp breath before lifting a loose fist, and knocked. 

“Um… West?”

He lets out a sigh you knew you were meant to hear, followed by a curt, “What?”

“Uh, can I come in?”

“Why?”

_ Ah dammit _ . “Um, well… Can I get your help on something?”

You hear something scrape against the wooden floor, and you stomped down the urge to run away. Sure, he sounds irritated – West is never  _ not _ irritated – and you figured he’d be more annoyed if you just ran, thinking you’re playing some childish game.

“What?” He snaps, pulling his door open.

You blink up at him, or more accurately, at what he’s wearing. West is still in his dress shirt. On a Sunday night. And you know for a fact he didn’t go outside. Come to think of it, you’ve never really seen him in other outfits, come to think of it. Not even a t-shirt. Maybe those are the only clothes he’s got? But he’s loaded, isn’t he? Does he wear his dress shirt and trousers as pajamas...?

But you’re getting distracted. That’s not what you’re here for.

The thing about Herbert West is he’s not a tall guy, but despite that, he can be… well, intimidating doesn’t quite fit. Off-putting, more like. And you are terribly, terribly… off putted.  _ Off placed?? _ But whatever you are, it’s the reason why you’re a little breathless when you tried to smile, and say,

“Hi, West. You busy?”

He gives you a flat stare.

“Dumb question. Right.” You hug your book tightly to your chest. “Uh, look, I need uh… help. With my math homework?”

“What?”

“Yeah, um,” You stepped away slightly, just to give yourself enough room to flip your textbook and show West the page you’re having trouble with. “I’ve been having a really hard time with uh… all of this,”

His eyes flicker from the off-while pages of your book back to you. “You’re an accountancy major, Miss (L/N).”

“Yeah, but this is  _ calculus _ ,”

His gaze doesn’t falter.

“Finding the breakeven is a lot different than  _ this _ ,” You tried.

His brow furrows. “I thought you’re already in your third year,”

“I uh, skipped it. Kinda.” You put off taking intermediate  _ fucking _ calculus in exchange for enrolling an easier elective and then proceeded to avoid  _ that _ course for the following semesters – putting it off as much as you can, only for the decision to prolong it has come to bite you in the ass.

“You can compute for probable inflation rates but not these?”

“That’s simple math, West.”  _ Just say no if you don’t wanna help, prick. _

“Why are you asking  _ me _ ?”

It was at this point that you figured maybe your other roommate is a repressed (??) sadist with the way he’s dragging this out. Really, he could just say  _ no _ , and you’d be out of his hair. “You’re smarter than I am, and I figured, you know, this will be like, elementary math to you,”

Herbert West gives you an odd look like he’s trying to find out if you’re being sarcastic or not. 

“Please?” You whispered. 

“You do know, Miss (L/N), that I’m taking …”

“I know you’re in Med school, I live with you.” You sigh, visibly deflating. “Look, just… forget about it. I’m sorry I wasted your time,”

You started to walk away. You can copy off of your friend’s work, sure, but it’s with your midterms just around the corner, you’d like to at least get a fighting chance. But worst-case scenario and you don’t meet the required average this semester, you can always get your scholarship back.

“Hold on,” West calls from behind you

You turn, trying to ignore the flip in your gut. You’re careful to keep your face neutral, maybe even sad. It’s highly unlikely that puppy-dog eyes will work on him, but it wouldn’t hurt to try.

“Do you want my help or not?” 

You would have squealed in delight but swallowed it down in favor of nodding.

West rolls his eyes. “Follow me so you can stop wasting  _ both  _ our time. And miss (L/N)?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t touch anything.”

With your book and pad papers tucked under your left hand, you hold up your right hand and do a three-fingered salute. “Scout’s honor!” You smile.

You tiptoed inside his room, actually surprised to see there’s stuff in there that didn’t come with the house. An additional, smaller desk by the door, a mini-fridge, and several posters of human anatomy. The biggest one was that of the cross-section of the brain. Like you, Herbert West’s room is surrounded by mountains of readings, organized chaos you dare not disrupt.

You lingered by the door as he moved some of his notes – lines and passages highlighted in various Stabilo colors – to one side to make room for you.

Finally, with the two of you settled down, he flips through the dog-eared pages of your book and asks you, “Which one are you having trouble with?”

“Ah, all of it?” You winced slightly.

Herbert sighs, and well, you can’t really blame him. “ Alright. Try this one and I’ll see how you solve it,”

You leaned closer on the desk, once again running your pencil on the eraser mark-bruised yellow legal paper.

Herbert is… well, you were honestly kinda expecting to be even more confused, that maybe he’d use this as an opportunity to gloat or let out an off-hand comment about how stupid you are for not understanding such a  _ simple  _ concept. But he’s surprisingly patient, and he almost sounds like a different person when he’d stop mid-explanation to turn to you and say, 

“Stop frowning and tell me where you got lost, (Y/N),”

“Ah, sorry I was just… how did it become 78 again?”

He sighs but backtracks and runs it by you again

On the third problem, you were comfortable enough to tell him where the equation stopped making sense to you, and it’s… easy, talking to him like this. You can almost pretend he’s one of your friends, or maybe your roommate’s estranged, nicer twin. He might make a great teacher someday, you think idly, as your numbers tap on your calculator.

You try to focus on the numbers on your paper but being this close to West for the first time makes your stomach feel… queasy. And your gaze keeps coming back to his profile. He’s handsome, you realize. And there’s something in the way his mouth moves that just… compels you to stare.

For a second, his eyes catch the light from his desk lamp, and you noticed just how green his eyes were.

Have his eyes always been that green, though? You never noticed because of his glasses.

“Um, Herbert?”

He hums, focused on looking at your work.

_ Your eyes are green _ , is what you wanted to say. But luckily your brain caught up with your mouth, and you were able to salvage it by saying,  “Thank you, Herbert,” You don’t think he’d take kindly by being gawked at by his roommate.

He snorts. “We’re not even halfway done, (Y/N).”

“I know. I… just wanted to thank you,”

You pretended not to notice the tips of his ears turning red

Under his guidance, you were slowly getting the hang of solving for (X), and suddenly it’s 10:55 and you’re done with the homework that you’ve been staring angrily at for the past two days. You stand up, trying to get rid of the cramp in your neck with the heel of your palm.

“Well, I’ve disturbed you enough. Look, if uh, you need anything, and if you think I can do it, let me know, okay?” You meet his eyes. “I’ll… uh…

“Unless you’re in the same class as I am, I highly doubt that I’ll need anything from you,”

You thought he’s back to being his jerky self, but his tone lacks its usual… Herbert-ness. Maybe that was an attempt at humor. Or maybe your ears are just playing tricks on you. But you smile at him, nonetheless.

“I’m serious, Herbert. That was… ki- uh...  _ nice  _ of you.”

Normally, he’d scoff at that. He’s  _ not  _ nice, really. But he nods absently as you bade him goodnight before exiting his room. From the barely lit hallway, he sees your cat slink by. He hadn’t been lying when he said he doesn’t need anything from  _ you _ . But some _ thing  _ from you can help. The newest batch of his reagent needs testing, after all.

And isn’t _that_ a fair bargain?


End file.
